


The Hunter

by Jedijuana (orphan_account)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-14
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:06:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8283694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Jedijuana
Summary: Jesse meets Hanzo in the woods and they fall in love <3





	1. January

My love was dying. I was about to be next. And what was I doing? I was standing, my gun holstered. I was frozen in place. I couldn’t move. My ears felt full of cotton and I couldn’t focus on anything. If I’d had any wits about me I’d have noticed my hands were shaking so bad there probably wasn’t any reason to even try shooting. I wasn’t frozen from some kind of external force; no, I was frozen by my own fear. People dying and then coming back to life and killing other people and I was panicking. And I knew it was going to end badly. 

But it didn’t start badly.

Well okay, it started a little badly. It starts in January. I think it was the fourth. I’d been running from manhunters and gang members and bounty hunters for longer than anyone could really care for. For longer than ten years. I’d travelled more in the past eight years than most people would in their entire life. Seen more of the world. Although my adventurous side wouldn’t have it any other way, part of me wished I didn’t have to run. But I’d made my own bed, and I was gonna lie in it. 

Somehow I found myself in Alaska, with my convoluted reasoning being it was strange turf, no one could find me there. But then again, just because I don’t know my way around somewhere doesn’t mean everyone else doesn’t either. But anyway. 

I’d been climbing through snow that was too high to step over, but too low to just drag your feet through without completely and entirely exhausting yourself in an hour. I’d gotten so overheated I had taken off my overcoat and slung it over my shoulder. But by midday I was too tired to keep going. I managed to find a place under one of those trees they use during christmas that didn’t have any snow under it that would melt when I sat down and then soak into the seat of my pants and make my life miserable. I laid my coat over my legs and leaned back against the tree trunk.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing I knew the sun was nearly gone and someone was yelling at me. I wrenched open my eyes and my face felt numb. My vision finally came into focus and there was- someone standing over me? Yelling at me in a language I didn’t recognize. My brain finally started whirring into gear and I was startled -to say the least- there was an arrow pointed at my chest.

I continued not responding to the stranger’s shouts, and apparently that worried him. Or maybe it didn’t worry him and he was just mean, but he crouched down in front of me and slapped my face. My reflexes were a little slow but the first one told me to hit back. I must have still been sluggish from sleeping because he easily leaned out of the way. He kept talking in his gibberish language and suddenly he grabbed my arm and hauled me up to my feet.

The first thing I noticed was that my knees were impossibly stiff, my ass was so numb that if I didn’t know any better I would’ve thought someone made off with it, and my toes were so numb it was a little hard to balance at first. I pulled my coat back on and adjusted my hat. The man who found me. I was almost a whole head taller than him, although it didn’t quite look it at the moment because of the wolf skin he was wearing. His sleeves were green and his weird ninja-style armor was red. His ridiculously poofy pants were a dark grey and reached his knees, stopping at metal-plated shin guards. His face was angular, but not sharp, and tinged with pink from the cold. His beard was dark, grown out but not unkempt, and his eyes were grey and cold.

“You will freeze out here. Come with me.”

I nearly startled when he spoke in english. Although I knew from past experience, I was reminded that the same voice often sounds much different in different languages. Thankfully I recovered quickly and raised my hand to the brim of my hat, sort of a suppressed tip.

“Well I’ll be, he speaks english.” I drew out the words, feigning nonchalance. Lowering my hand back down to my hip, I continued. “As much as I’d be obliged to take you up on that offer, something make you think I can’t handle myself?” A gentle way to tell him ‘mind your own damn business.’

He shot me a brief glare. I wasn’t even looking at his face but I could feel it. Then he sent me the most smug, condescending, “I’m-better-than-you” smirk. I was looking this time and it felt like I’d been stabbed in the chest. I hate to admit it, but I was intimidated instantly.

“You are sleeping without shelter in below freezing temperature,” he paused and stuck an arrow back in his quiver, slung over his back, “And the sun is going down.” And then he started walking away.

I couldn’t help it. I stared. I stood still.

He got a few yards away before he stopped and looked back over his shoulder at me.

“I rarely find it in myself the compassion to save the lives of strangers with death wishes, so either follow me or get off my land so your corpse will not attract bears.” And then he started walking away again.

I stood there and assessed my situation. It was true, the sun was going down, casting the snow with an orange glow. Even nothing more than a slight breeze that snaked through the trees made me shudder and fear that my balls would disappear into my body entirely. The snow covering the ground made it impossible to start a fire unless I fancied burning down a tree or two, and I had encountered wolves a few nights ago. (Luckily for me, they had moved on after realizing I didn’t have any food for them, but that of course didn’t mean they wouldn’t try again.) I definitely wouldn’t live through the night on my own.

My overcoat was unbuttoned so I clasped the front shut with one hand, held my hat down with the other, and jogged the distance to catch up to the stranger with the wolf skin and the bow.

I drew astride with him and lowered my hand down from my hat and extended it out to him. “I’m not too keen on accepting big favors like this from strangers, uh-”

“It is no big favor. You will leave in the morning,” he cut me off without looking towards me. His pace quickened with… possibly irritation.

I brushed off the interruption and continued. “But, uh, we don’t gotta be strangers. The name’s Jes-”

Then it all happened so fast I didn’t really process it until after. The stranger kicked my knees out from under me, unslung his bow and drew back an arrow. A gunshot. The “whish” of a bow fired.

I hit the ground and my instincts kicked in. The flash where my vision blurred and the ring in my ears that happened every time I heard a gunshot never stopped me from acting. I pushed myself up and reached to my hip but stopped short of latching onto Peacekeeper when the stranger’s bow fell into my field of vision. I looked up in time to see him fall to his knees, left hand against the ground and right hand clutching at his thigh. He’d been hit.

“Ah god, I’m sorry I-” I rushed to him, bracing his shoulder with my hands to keep him from falling to the ground. “This is- I-” I stumbled over my words. How could I explain that I was being hunted?

The stranger swung his elbow and clocked me right in the jaw, and I fell back on my ass, tasting blood.

“Do not-!” he yelled, then his voice quieted. “-touch me.”

“Ah sorry I didn’t mean-” I started to apologize but I was cut off once again by a glare. Then he cast his eyes over to where he’d fire his arrow and sat back on his heels. I took the hint, remembering that someone had just tried to assassinate me, and scrambled to my feet. 

The attacker was only about a hundred yards away, now down at the bottom of a tree they must have been in. I ran over and kicked their rifle away, before crouching down to make sure they were dead. I don’t know why I bothered, seeing the arrow sticking out of their forehead. They were clad in a black bodysuit made of a thick material that reminded me of scuba gear, their only armor was flimsy shoulder plates that were more likely for decoration than actual function. I wondered how they had stayed warm enough long enough to shoot at me. The mask was what got me though. White, smooth and featureless, it covered the entire face and sported an owl insignia in black that reminded me of things that… hurt. Cracks spread out across it like a spider web where the arrow rested in their forehead. I placed two fingers over their pulse point, just to be sure. Nothing, as I expected.

I gave them a last once-over. No other weapons on the body, their legs were bent at  grotesque angles, and the ungloved portions of their hands were already turning blue. 

I stood and turned back to the stranger who had now saved my life, not once, but twice in the span of a couple of minutes. Boy, I sure did owe him. I drew a finger across my throat, and sent him a thumbs-up. The wolf skin shadowed his face but I was sure he glared at me again.

I turned back to the assassin and signed the cross over my chest before slinging their rifle over my shoulder and trotting back.

I leaned down so the stranger could grip onto my arm and I pulled him up to standing. He wobbled before shoving away from me again. 

“Looks like you can repay me for my favor immediately,” he said to me over his shoulder and started limping away. When I didn’t follow, he looked back at me again and said “Come.” it sounded like a command but felt like a question.

I walked alongside him in silence, keeping my hands out of my pockets in case he decided to keel over. The pace he set was admittedly slow enough to be slightly annoying, but I was always told I had really long legs and I felt the same walking with most people. 

We walked in silence for a minute or two, until we came into a view of a wooden cabin. It was square, with a flat roof and four walls, too short to be two levels but it had extra height for just one level. Not to mention how hard building a multiple level building is -I’ve tried. There weren’t any windows I could see but there was a short chimney trailing out a thin ribbon of steam or smoke, and it had a narrow door in the middle of one side. It almost reminded me of a place I knew as a kid, only that one had windows, with sheets covering them instead of glass, and we never had to shovel snow off the roof. It was undoubtedly smaller than the one in front of me, though it presumably had more people living in it. 

I was pulled from my thoughts when I felt the stranger’s grip tighten on my sleeve. I hadn’t even realized when he grabbed hold of my arm but he was nearly leaning on me now. He didn’t look at me and his wolf skin blocked most of his face from my view, but from what I could see, he was sweaty and drained of color and his mouth was pulled into a thin line.

He was too short for me to sling his arm over my shoulder, so I put my arm around his shoulders and tried to support as much of his weight as I could. I would have just picked him up entirely, but since he’d nearly dislocated my jaw the first time I tried to touch him, I didn’t want to press my luck.

I managed to walk him the rest of the way to the cabin, where he shoved me off once again to lean against the doorjamb and fumble with the crossbar. Then he flung the door open, and I felt the wind from it against my face as it passed less than an inch away from breaking my nose. 

I followed him in, but I was stopped in the doorway by something against my chest. My hand instinctively flew up to it and I felt a stiff cord in addition to the strap of the assassin’s rifle. My other hand went over my shoulder and was met with smooth, curved wood. It was the stranger’s bow, hitting up against the top of the doorway, even though I couldn’t remember picking it up. To be honest I’d just forgotten about it. I bent my knees and ducked in.

The room was dark but minimally lit by the orange of the sun through the doorway, and as my eyes adjusted I could see it was very wide, probably went across the entire width of the cabin, but it was only about three and a half feet long, with three of those japanese-style sliding doors in front of me, the kind made out of paper, only these weren’t. 

As I stood there, most likely gawking, the stranger shoved open the door farthest to the left and immediately collapsed onto the raised platform there that was the floor for the rest of the place. Blinking my eyes, I quickly followed behind him. I unslung the bow and shotgun and laid them on the platform as the stranger threw off his hood and started undoing the ties on his armor. His hair was long and black with streaks of silver at his temples. It was frizzy as hell from being under the hood but I could tell it was sleek normally. He had it tied back with a red ribbon and a little red clip pinned back a lock in front of his face that, I assumed, wasn’t long enough to fit in the ribbon with the rest.

As I stepped up onto the platform I swear the stranger growled at me. I stopped and looked at him where he was attempting to slide his armor off over his head.

“Take off your shoes,” he snarled.

I glanced to his feet, which he had most definitely not taken the shoes off of, but didn’t say anything, turned around and sat down on the edge of the platform and yanked off my boots. Then I turned back around and sort of half crawled, half knee-walked over to him. I quickly shed my overcoat and the other smaller jacket I had under it because I didn’t want to get blood on them. I rolled up my sleeves and the cool air made my arm hair stand on end, but it was significantly warmer than the air outside.

I barely looked up in time to catch a box that was thrown right at my head. It was about a foot square and unfortunately for my right hand, the corners weren’t rounded down.

“Use that,” the stranger grunted as he shimmied his pants down far enough to grant me access to his bullet wound. His shirt had ridden up when he took off his armor, showing off the “V” of his hips and his, to my knowledge, rock hard abs. I was pretty sure I’d never looked like that in my life. Not for lack of trying, mind you. This guy must have done some serious work. I’d always been sure of my sexual preferences, but never quite as sure as I was in this exact moment. I wasn’t sure if it was because my body had adjusted to the cold and then I was suddenly in a warmer place or what have you, but I was a little sweaty. His shorts were a medium-tone bluish grey.

Before I could let that train of thought go any further, the stranger swiped the box from my hands and set it down, a little louder than necessary, on the floor between my knees. He flung it open and then threw a square of cloth at me.

“There’s water in a jug over there,” he instructed, indicating a spot near the fireplace. “Use it,” and then he continued digging in the box.

I did as he told, uncapping the jug and wetting the cloth as I returned back to his side.

Carefully, to avoid touching the actual wound, I wiped the skin around it with the cloth, cleaning off the blood. My other hand went to rest against the back of his thigh, both holding it up and feeling for an exit wound. There wasn’t one. A gentle press above the wound, accompanied by a hiss through clenched teeth from my left, and more blood welled up from the hole, but I couldn’t see that familiar glint of silver. 

The stranger interrupted my thoughts again, pressing something into my palm. “Use this.”

I looked down and saw the meanest looking instrument I’d ever seen. It looked like it was made to pull bullets out of walls, not flesh.

“Uh, just askin’, for your sake more than mine but do you have anything, uh, nicer?” I swallowed thickly. “This is gonna hurt like a goddamn S.O.B.”

He grabbed my collar and used it to pull himself up. “Well then you had better be careful,” he whispered right in my face, then let go of my shirt and flopped back down onto his elbows. “And hurry up.” 

I’m not gonna describe the whole process to you since it’s, well, a little gross. But it’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before. At some point he wound his arm under mine and was clutching at my shoulder. He stayed silent the whole time, but I could swear I heard his teeth grinding more than once.

Once I found and removed the object of offense, and inspected it. It was a piddly little thing, and shot from the shotgun I glanced to at that moment, I was surprised the assassin managed to hit anything. Wrong caliber and all that. It probably bounced around the barrel, losing momentum, and that’s why it hadn’t exited.

I couldn’t know if the assassin knew their op had been sabotaged without asking them, and obviously that wasn’t an option. Which brought up a lot of questions. I sifted through possibilities while carefully cleaning the wound again. Someone on the inside didn’t really want me dead? No that didn’t make sense. Talon practically brainwashed their guys. Someone on the outside? That made less sense. How would they get in? So was it just a scare tactic? Try to make me turn myself in? Maybe, but that still seemed really unlikely. 

I silently shook my head to myself while wrapping the stranger’s leg. No, they know I’d rather die than join them and get fucked up like others of their guys I’d seen. I pushed the thought to the back of my head before it could get any darker, to mull over at some later time.

“That should do ya,” I concluded, and patted the stranger’s hip. I felt his hand slide off my shoulder, slowly, and he gave a huff. His elbow wasn’t under him anymore and he was lying on his back.

“Did I not ask you to be careful?” he sort of half wheezed, half growled at me. There wasn’t malice or anything, possibly annoyance, but not really pointed at me. A resignation that he indeed didn’t have the right tools for the job and hadn’t expected it to hurt so much.

“Sorry.” I glanced down at my hands. The metal joints in my left hand were locking up from the sudden warmth right after severe cold, and my right was shaking and stiff both from the temperature change and the fact I hadn’t eaten all day. “There’s only so good I can do you with what I got.” I was reminded of a lady I used to live with for a little while when I was a kid, Maria, with her arthritis. She had grey hair and both her english and spanish were broken up into short phrases and mixed together, and even though I loved her endlessly, all I ever did was disappoint her.

I shook my head to clear the thought and de-constrict my chest. The stranger rolled away from me and was pulling up his pants and redoing the tie. He stood up on his knees and pulled his shirt back down and plucked at the new hole in his pants thoughtfully.

A sudden frigid breeze passed through the room, sucking out all the warmth. Simultaneously both the stranger and I realized I’d left the door open. I grinned sheepishly and moved to shut it, but the stranger pushed me back down with a hand on my shoulder. He stepped down off the platform and although he winced and then limped, he made it to the door, where he pulled it shut and put the crossbar back down.

When he turned around, his eyes caught on his bow where it lay side-by-side with the assassin’s rifle. He looked over at me, asking the question without words, his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, I figured you didn’t want to leave that behind,” I shrugged.

“Thank you,” he spoke finally, and picked up his bow, untangling it from the rifle and checking it for damage.

“It’s no problem, partner,” I answered before realizing I didn’t know the stranger’s name, having not finished telling him mine earlier. I stuck out my hand for him. “The name’s Jesse McCree, pleasure to meet you.”

He took my hand in his cold fingers and his grip was strong. “Shimada.” His grip lingered for a moment longer, then he pulled away. 

Then almost as an afterthought, he added “Hanzo.” My hand and my shoulder tingled.


	2. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse does as he's told but also doesn't, makes steps forward in friendship with Hanzo

The next morning found my ass numb and my limbs stiff again. I had sat at the end of the stranger -Shimada Hanzo’s- bed and leaned against the wall, with my overcoat draped over myself. When I woke up I realized there was more weight on me than there had been the previous night, and when I glanced down I saw an extra blanket that must have been thrown over me while I slept. Shimada had told me I could sleep in his bed with him, but I had declined, saying I’d slept on worse places than the floor, and he didn’t make any move to argue. The room around me was dark and just a little bit chilly, but not too cold to be unpleasant.

Shimada’s foot tapped me on the side again. I blinked sleep out of my eyes and looked over to where he was sitting up, on top of the blankets, already dressed.

I mumbled a ‘good morning’

“You need to go get rid of that body before you are on your way,” he spoke softly, without acknowledging my greeting.

I chuckled. “Of course. The bears right?” And made my move to stand.

“There is a spade in the front room you can use. Dig a hole and burn it, then bury the ashes” was my only response.

“Oh, I’ve gotten rid of bodies before, no sweat,” and then, with a short pause to yank my boots on, I was on my way.

The air outside was frigid, maybe even colder than it had been last night, and even though the sun was just coming up, the snow reflected and amplified the light so it was like broad daylight. It hadn’t snowed at all during the night, so it was easy to guess where we’d left the assassin. Just follow the tracks.

I let my mind wander.

_ “Who was that who shot at you?”  _ Shimada had asked last night, after refusing to argue with me about where I was going to sleep, then climbing into bed, which was a soft palette on the floor with blankets covering it.

_ “Don’t know,” I shrugged. It was partially the truth. _

_ He narrowed his eyes at me. “Do not lie.” _

_ I sighed. “Okay, I don’t know who that was in particular. But they work with these guys who… I dunno,” I dragged a hand down my face, sighing again. Truthfully I really didn’t know. “They want me to work with them or something.” _

_ “And you will not,” Shimada completed, leaning ever so slightly towards me. _

_ I shot him a grin and a wink. “Course not, I work alone.” That was even less true. _

_ A huff of mild aggravation. “And because you cannot cover your tracks, you lead them to me.” _

_ “Yeah, sorry about that. They’ve never gotten this close to me before. And they sure as hell ain’t shot at me,” I lied. They’d gotten up close and personal more than once, and showed no preference as to whether they brought me in alive or dead. _

_ The man next to me scoffed. “A job is a job. You needn’t think yourself so heroic.” _

_ I wanted to tell him why. The brainwashing, how every agent I came across was cold and unfeeling, begging me to kill them with their eyes, how they barely clung to reality, how I already felt too dead to the world to wanna go any farther. But none of that came out. Instead I chuckled and said “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. But the ones sent after me are always sent solo, so you don’t gotta worry about them again in the near future.” That, at least, was truth. “I’ll be out of here before they even know you shot down their assassin,” I assured him, but I wasn’t really sure of it myself. _

And I still wasn’t sure. 

When I reached the body, I decided, maybe as a gesture of apology, I’d return Shimada’s arrow. It was stuck down with frozen blood and bone shards and pieces of brain. Honestly I’d seen worse. The mask, made of some plastic-like material that I wasn’t familiar with, came off intact with it. The remainder of the arrow easily slid through it, completing its path and becoming separate again. There were the too-familiar screw marks on the temples of the dead assassin and I felt a twang of sympathy and guilt. Maybe if I had relented sooner…? No, this one had probably been with them for a while. It really didn’t matter what I did, bad things would happen regardless. I looked back at the mask and stared at it and it stared back.

I scoffed at it, as if it had thrown an insult at me, a completely falsified insult at that, and tossed it into the snow behind me.

There were the telltale marks on the fingers of some animals coming by and nibbling at them, and I looked around to see if there were any poor creatures I’d have to off, in case they came back looking for more. Luckily I didn’t pick up on any except a white owl up in a tree a ways away, but owls are smarter than a lot of other animals, and this was probably her turf anyway, so I didn’t do anything about it.

With one last glance back to my would-be assassin, a shake of my head with sympathy for the poor bastard, seeing Talon can’t even dress their agents appropriately for the weather, I shifted my grip on my borrowed shovel and got to work. 

The digging of the hole took the better half of the morning, and even towards the middle of it, I started to feel, in the gentlest way I can put it, like shit. I was tired, I was exhausted, and I was hungry and probably dehydrated, and I still felt guilty about getting Shimada shot. My extremities were completely numb from cold but the rest of me was overheating from exertion, and I hadn’t had the chance or the presence of mind to smoke since early in the morning yesterday. 

I rolled the body in when the grave was as good as it was going to get, and set off to find something not thoroughly covered in snow that I could use to start a fire. I finally managed to gather some dry enough pine needles, and by then it was high noon.

The burning took into long after the sun had gone down again. I had gone through 3 cigarrillos at that point and decided it was maybe time to stop. Never knew when I’d be able to get more, after all. Despite having practically no sense of smell, smoking since you were practically a kid did that to you, there was still something about burning human flesh that just always got to me. It settled in your lungs like ash and made you just as nauseous. No matter how many times I were to see a body burn I’d never get really used to it.

When I finally decided the body was burned far enough beyond recognition, I slowly put out the fire by shovelling dirt onto it until the hole was filled. With the closing of the hole came the slight relief of the burning smell, and I could relax a little. Looking down at my work, I hoped it would snow again soon so the mound of barren dirt wouldn’t attract any attention. Not that anyone ever came out here anyway.

As I turned to leave, my foot kicked something across the ground that wasn’t snow. I looked down and saw it was the mask. I’d forgotten to bury it.

Shaking my head, I bent down to pick it up. Couldn’t leave it there and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna dig the hole back up just to bury it. I sighed and tucked it into my jacket. Maybe Shimada would have a use for it.

The tracks back to the cabin were slightly harder to follow in the dark, but I made it. The crossbar wasn’t lowered over the front door, but all the same, I hesitated in the dark of the front room. I could hear Shimada moving around on the other side of the sliding doors, and I could feel warmth radiating through them. I only just now realized how cold I’d gotten throughout the day. I sucked in a deep breath and slid open the far left door. 

Shimada was sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, what he was doing I couldn’t see, and he slightly glanced over his shoulder at me. His hair was down and his posture was perfect.

“Why have you returned?” he asked. I could tell he didn’t want a real answer from me.

“Figured you’d want your shovel back,” I answered anyway, indicating where it was propped up against the wall in the front room. I sat down on the platform to take my boots off again, before spinning around and walking over to stand behind Shimada.

“Brought your arrow back too,” I kept my voice low, offering the arrow to him over his shoulder. Loud voices didn’t suit this space, I realized. “Y’know, in case you needed it.”

“I did not,” he answered slowly, gently taking the arrow from my hand, “but thank you.” Now that I was hovering right above him, I could see that what he was doing was carving new arrows. He had a small pile of shafts already made, and I assumed he was going to attach the heads and tails and such after accumulating enough of them. He set the arrow I brought back down among them. 

And then he was silent again. The only sounds were the soft scratching of his knife, the occasional pop from the fire, and the pad of my footsteps as I took to languidly pacing around the cabin, for lack of anything better to do.

Just as I was about to ask if I was going to stay another night, or if he really would kick me out now, he spoke again. It started with a sigh.

“Since you are here anyway, sit over there.” He barely turned to indicate the low table set perpendicular to one wall with a nod, then he fell silent again.

I walked over to where he indicated and sat, and began tracing the grain of the wood with my finger. The image of a river came to mind. A deceptively calm river running with cold water. Mercilessly swift, you couldn’t wade in it during winter, because the current would drag you under the ice. The lines the water made as it flowed past looked like the grain of some kinds of wood. Not all of them, but a few. Almond and peach looked nothing like it, but apple and cedar did, and I couldn’t bring to memory what oak looked like. I supposed pine would have to look like water too, assuming Shimada was the one who made the table, and made it while here. He did not have a carpenter’s hand; the table was notched and uneven and wobbled slightly when I leaned too heavily on one corner. But he did have an eye for detail; it was smooth everywhere with not a splinter to be found. I considered fixing it for him for a moment, then remembered I wasn’t going to stick around long enough to do him many favors. 

Minutes later, Shimada limped over to me, sitting down at the opposite side of the table. He placed a bowl of rice with two pieces of what looked like fish (and probably was) in front of me. I looked up sharply when he did so, seeing he had a bowl of the same for himself too.

“Oh, thanks,” tumbled out of my mouth. Shimada kept his eyes down, but made a grunt of acknowledgement. 

I can’t say much for the taste of the meal, but having not eaten since two evenings ago, I didn’t honestly care too much what it tasted like. But it was warm and filling, and that’s all that ever really matters. I only finally stopped to breathe. I knew I wasn't using my manners and I couldn't care at the moment. When I looked up, Shimada was looking at me with one eyebrow cocked. There was a faint smile on his face, like he found me amusing.

“What?” I joked. “I’ve been lost in the wilderness.”

He said nothing, just stood and refilled my bowl with more rice and three pieces of fish this time. Before I’d finished this one, he slid another bowl of rice towards me along with a cup of hot water that tasted like how pine needles smell.

After dinner, Shimada put away his dishes and sat down to drink his own tea while I sat against the wall where I slept the night previous and read through my journal. It was small enough to barely cover my hand, but I could write pretty small. I’d neglected it for over a week, and recounted what had happened since in as short of sentences as I could manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm slow but I'm improving


	3. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The power of friendship

We began to fall into somewhat of a routine, after the initial awkwardness. The hunter began addressing me by my given name instead of my family name, so I took to calling him Hanzo. It was always replied to with a small but bright smile. 

I still hadn't left after almost two weeks, but Hanzo didn't seem to mind. He in fact seemed to enjoy the company, and I know I did. I realized through glances and both quiet and unspoken words that he was a terribly lonely man. I had finally given in to his insistence that sleeping on the floor was bad for my back and begin lying next to him on his mattress, on top of his blankets and under my own coat and another blanket. His sleep was almost never peaceful, he tossed around and woke up at least once a night. I only found this out because my sleep is just as unrestful, and I recognized he was being haunted by cousins of the demons that were after me. 

But each morning, he rose without a word and began his morning chores, and I would follow suit shortly after as the noise from his cooking and robotic cleaning woke me up. I'd clear any snow from the front room or the stoop, then after eating I'd leave to check the traps I convinced him to lay. Or perhaps I'd taught him how to. It was always hard to tell with him. The afternoon usually consisted of whatever we could find to do, whether it be cleaning the entire cabin over again, preserving anything I'd found in the traps that morning, or splitting firewood, or on more than one occasion when the cabin was already spotless, the traps had been empty, and the firewood stocked, we would just sit at the low table. I cleaned my gun or scribbled mindlessly in the last remaining pages of my journal, while Hanzo maintained his plethora of handmade hunting equipment, and when he was done he'd stare at the swirling river of the table. 

Hanzo was a man of very few words it seemed. He wasn't silent or shy in any way, but only seemed to speak out of necessity to communicate. I respected that as best as I could but me naturally being such a chatterbox led to many one-sided, insignificant conversations. I told him about the makeshift family I'd managed to scrape together during my time in the military, then about what I was doing when the war started. Then when the war ended. I left out strict details about my family, didn't mention anyone by name, but no doubt that he knew full well how much I loved them by the end of it. 

After another minute of silence I began to speak again. 

“What about you?” I prodded, hoping for almost anything that wasn’t just a single sentence. “Don't you have a family?” 

I could feel his dark eyes staring at my knuckles where I rested my hand on the table, and it was a long, tense moment until he spoke. 

“I did,” and his eyes flickered up to my face and back down. “It's probably best you don't know.” The room felt colder. 

“What,” I joked, “don't tell me you're secretly a prince or something.” That, surprisingly, earned me something like a cut-off giggle. 

“Something like that,” he confirmed, and shot me one of his subtler smiles. One that seemed to say 'i appreciate your curiosity in my personal history but kindly get fucked,’ in as gentle a manner as something like that could be said. 

“Well fancy that,” I continued with a wide grin. “Little old me finding royalty way out here? A pleasure to meet you, your highness.” I took a frankly terrible imitation of a half-curtsy, half-bow from where I was sitting across the table from him. 

Clearly I'd said something wrong, because he flushed red with embarrassment and his smile fell from his face. 

“Don't say things like that.” His voice had lost all of its previous light. “I am not anyone's 'highness’ and I never will be.” He turned away from me, furrowing his brow. I didn't dare say anything more now. 

Finally he sighed heavily and sternly spoke in a low voice. “Please do not ask me about my family again. That's best left in the past.” 

Barely another minute passed in silence and I felt I had committed an unspeakable atrocity, but couldn't for the life of me muster the courage to apologize, lest I make it worse. Finally after what felt like years of tense silence, Hanzo stood, carefully minding his injured leg. Without facing me, he warned, “the wind is coming from the north tonight, i wouldn't be surprised if we are snowed in tomorrow morning. I'll need your help clearing the doorway and the roof.” 

Something new was closed off behind his voice this time and hearing it finally drove me to say something. 

“Hanzo. I'm sorry.” I wanted to reach towards him but I held back. “I shouldn't’ve teased you.” 

He finally took a deep breath and seemed to relax a little. When he turned back to me, he had on another smile-not-smile, and I realized how tired he really had been since his injury. 

“It's fine.” His words were almost a whisper but they were loud in my ears. I watched as he turned away again and went about putting dinner together. 

The meal itself was silent except for the clinking of utensils. It was only as tasteless as it always was but the sudden anxiety in the back of my throat made it blander. I didn't speak another word even after we had both cleaned up and gone to bed. 

Sleep didn't come easily to me then, all I could do was think about how upset I had made Hanzo. And what I could do about it. Finally, by holding my eyes shut and counting my breaths, I forced myself asleep. 

Sometime around what I would call zero-dark-thirty, something woke me. I wasn't sure what it was, be it noise or movement, or if I was too warm or too cold, but I quickly became aware that Hanzo was awake and sitting up. He was murmuring quietly to himself in his native language, softly, I assumed, not to wake me. I must have drawn in a breath unconsciously because he quieted and sat taut. There was no point in pretending I was asleep since he already noticed me, so I shifted slightly and tried to face in his general direction, which was hard to do with how dark it was. 

“Y’alright?” I mumbled.  


“No.” Not quite the answer I had expected.  


The rustling of my coverings echoed loudly around the room as I propped myself up on my elbows and tried to rub sleep from my eyes.  


“Whadaya mean?”  


“You are not safe here anymore. You should leave as soon as you can.” His voice was shaken and sleep-slurred.  


My bewildered and sleep-fogged ass could only muster up a stupid sounding “huh?”  


Hanzo hesitated, maybe expecting me to elaborate on that sentiment, but then he breathed in, once, twice, and spoke.  


“I left my family behind long ago. I was finally able to go a day without thinking about all of it and then you came along and had to…” he trailed off. “I had no choice but to leave. I no longer have a family. I'd surely be hunted and killed were I to try to live in civilization.” He continued for another couple minutes, circling around and repeating himself in different words, as if the first ones had broken the dam and everything that had been building up and swirling around behind it was free.  


He seemed to realize he was repeating himself out of both the need and fear to let it out and quieted.  


I sat up, then cleared my throat because I wasn't sure if my voice would be stable, and tried to assure him.  


“Family doesn't have to be your blood. Hell I barely know my real family, but I'm happy with the one I made.”  


Hanzo kept his frame rigid but turned his gaze toward me. My own vision had adjusted somewhat to the darkness and I could just make out the whites of his eyes.  


“You misunderstand. I loved my family.” He paused to look away from me. “But I destroyed it.”  


I found myself lost for anything to say and just continued sitting there like an idiot.  


After another silent moment, Hanzo shook his head and sighed.  


“That was,” he hesitated, searching for the right words. “Unwarranted. I apologize. I figured you would still appreciate an explanation for my earlier reaction.”  


Hanzo was beginning to give me emotional whiplash. Before I could even think of something to say besides “huh?” again, Hanzo interrupted.  


“Everything's alright. I apologise for waking you,” and his tone was lighter. Then he laid back down and rolled over onto his side, facing the wall. After another moment I laid down as well and tentatively draped my arm over his shoulders. He made no move to avoid it. I listened to his breathing until I fell asleep again. His breaths never slowed enough to indicate that he fell asleep.  


In the morning, it was as if nothing had happened. He woke up long before me, and had nearly finished all of his chores by the time I rolled out of bed.  


Sure enough, the front door was blocked by a snow drift like Hanzo had warned. After eating, he helped me clear it away, then he managed to pull a stiff broom and something like a makeshift stepladder from the clutter of the front room, and led the way outside after donning his outer layer.  


With some effort, I managed to haul my ass up to the flat roof, which, if I wasn't imagining it, was already beginning to bend under the weight of the snow. I tried to stay close to the edge without accidentally stepping off. There was about a foot and a half of snow up here, with slightly more towards the south-facing wall, and the broom wasn't so much a broom as a slightly inadequate shovel.  


I was reaching with the broom to clear snow from the center of the roof, where it needed to be cleared most, while trying not to step too far towards it, when I heard Hanzo speak from somewhere below me and to the right.  


“The roof will support your weight, there's no need for acrobatics,” he assured me. I probably looked ridiculous.  


“Just bein’ careful; you never know.” I stopped sweeping and turned to look down at him. He was standing ankle-deep in the snow, with a bundle of twigs under one arm, and his bow slung over the opposite shoulder.  


“I doubt you weigh as much as a half-meter of white bullshit,” he argued, but then dropped the subject and turned towards the door.  


Something about his response made me forget the exertion from sweep-shovelling for half the morning, and I stepped quickly towards the west wall, where the door was, and shovelled a pile of snow onto Hanzo's head.  


He spluttered and glared up at me like I'd just called his mother a crack whore, but didn't say anything. He threw one of the lighter sticks he was carrying up in my general direction then went inside, slamming the door behind him hard enough that I could feel the building shake.  


I went back to sweeping the center of the roof and didn't notice Hanzo come back outside until I was smacked in the ear by projectile snow. My hat was knocked off and a well-timed breeze blew it off the roof, but I hardly noticed because I was too busy molding my own snowball to throw back. My initial startled grunt must have been hilarious because Hanzo could barely stay on his feet from laughing so hard, and in fact fell over on his backside when my own snowball hit him square in the chest.  


I tossed the broom off the edge, then lowered myself down as well, jumping the remaining foot or so to the ground. That moment was all it had taken for Hanzo to regain his composure and his feet, and he seized the broom from where it was submerged in snow and swept my feet out from under me.  


An indignified squawk left my throat as I hit the ground and then Hanzo was laughing again -no, giggling- and easily jumping over my sweeping grabs for his slim ankles, with a slight limp in his step.  


This continued for several minutes, him dancing away when I made to grab at him and flinging heavy clouds of snow at me with the broom, and me pretending they were enough to thwart my half-hearted attempts at standing, until we were both huffing for breath.  


Sensing a lull in the action, I flopped back into the snow and caught my breath. I finally pried my eyes open to the white-glaring sun when Hanzo poked me in the ribs with the end of his broom.  


“You're wet,” he informed me.  


“Sure gonna be, anyway,” I quipped back and sent him a wink and a grin, but I wasn’t sure he heard me since he was already walking away.

That evening was different somehow. We sat on opposite sides of the table like always, but our knees touched underneath, and the usual silence wasn’t as awkward as it normally was. I felt warm.  
After dinner, we both sat on his futon, talking to each other, and at some point we started feeling each other up.  
Then Hanzo grabbed me by the hair and smashed our mouths together and that was the end of that story.


End file.
